


Nothing a Little Miracle Couldn’t Weather

by waterofthemoon



Series: Name That Author/Guess The Author Challenge Fills [19]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley Have Their Picnic (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Frivolous Miracles (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Rain, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are having a perfectly lovely picnic date, and then the weather has the audacity to set in on them.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Name That Author/Guess The Author Challenge Fills [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805698
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: NTA #10 - GO Events Server - Cumulonimbus





	Nothing a Little Miracle Couldn’t Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Name That Author round 10 (after dark) in the GO Events Discord! The prompt was cumulonimbus! I wrote this back in November but, for no good reason, am just getting around to posting it now. Thanks to @Sk3tch for the title!

It was a lovely day for a picnic.

 _Was_ , of course, being the operative word. Now there are tall thunderclouds overhead, billowing and rumbling. A fat raindrop hits Aziraphale's face just as he's considering whether they ought to do a reenactment of Eden or just make a run for it.

Perhaps he ought to make Crowley do the wing over the head, seeing as the picnic was his suggestion.

As if he can read Aziraphale's mind from one speculative look, Crowley scooches closer on the blanket. "Oh, c'mon, angel. You know I'm shit at telling the weather."

"You might have checked the forecast."

"Meteorologists don't know anything about it, either. Everyone knows that." Crowley scoffs. " _Meteorologists_. Besides, _you_ could have checked the weather."

This is true, but a truth Aziraphale was trying to avoid. He sighs. "Home, then?"

Crowley glances up at the sky, now very dark with storm clouds, and sticks out his tongue to catch raindrops, still just starting to fall. He shakes his head. "Storm's too close. We'll never make it, not without a serious miracle, and I'm not up for anything of the sort after all those little sandwiches you fed me."

Aziraphale's mouth curves up when he remembers Crowley of ten minutes ago, lying supine on the blanket while he took nibbles directly from Aziraphale's hand, his teeth and tongue grazing Aziraphale's fingers. It really was a wonderful picnic.

He looks around now at their complete lack of shelter and tries not to mourn his clothing too obviously. "To sticking it out here, then?"

"Guess so." Crowley shrugs. "Wait. No. Got an idea. Hold hands with me."

Aziraphale reaches out and takes Crowley's hand. "This is cozy. Was this your idea?" He stares up into the thunderclouds again. "Makes the prospect less terrifying, at least."

"No! That's not the idea!" Crowley huffs and squeezes Aziraphale's hand; Aziraphale squeezes back. "Look, just believe, as hard as you can, that I know what I'm doing, all right?"

Bemused, Aziraphale concentrates on whatever Crowley's trying to do. Honestly, Crowley ought to know that Aziraphale does believe in him, but he's sure the reassurance is helpful.

Abruptly, the weather stops. Or, that's not right, Aziraphale realizes when he looks up. The weather _around_ their immediate vicinity has just begun in earnest, the clouds pouring their rain over the field where they're picnicking. But _inside_ their little area, there's no rain at all, thanks to a nearly invisible but very real bubble of a shield surrounding them.

Crowley grins manically, surprised but delighted. "That actually _worked_."

"I never doubted you, you know." Aziraphale leans in and captures Crowley's mouth in a grateful kiss. Lightning flashes overhead. "Thank you. Shall we finish our picnic?"

The rain pounds above them, sliding down the sides of Crowley's shield. It's rather pretty. Crowley lies back down, head in Aziraphale's lap, and Aziraphale offers him a chocolate truffle from the basket. Crowley takes a bite, crunching satisfyingly around Aziraphale's fingertips, and so they go on.


End file.
